


The Flames That Lick Higher

by Bonfoi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Community: ides_of_march, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, Het and Slash, M/M, Multi, Non Consensual, Non-Consensual Violence, Rape/Non-con References, Romance, Violence, bottom!Snape, dark!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonfoi/pseuds/Bonfoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Passion shows itself in many ways, some fleeting and soft, some whip-crack hard and scarring.  In between the two are all manner of permutations and perhaps even…love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flames That Lick Higher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_minx_17](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the_minx_17).



> **Genre:** Dark!fic, Fantasy, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Reality, Romance, Adventure, Slash and Het  
>  **Warnings:** *Non-con (Rape); Double-penetration; Triple-penetration*  
>  **A/N 1:** This is in the manner of many historical novels. I tried to use as much of the [ides_of_march community](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/ides_of_march/profile) table as possible.  
>  **A/N 2:** Please! There are disturbing themes; read the warnings.  
>  **A/N 3:** The language used is to set tone and place; no intent to insult. There is a mix of British and American English grammar and punctuation and sentence structure to reflect that this is a fantasy.  
>  _ **A/N 4:** So many thanks to the_minx_17 for posting this at ides_of_march while I was moving from Louisiana. _  
> **Betas:** sktypied and kitbaiu via the LJ community, hp_betas. My thanks for their eyes and their kind consideration! So glad my header caught their attentions! Any mistakes remaining are mine and mine alone!  
>  **A/N 5:** Some editing done 12-16-12.

ides_of_march challenge/fest  
 **Fandom/ Pairing/Prompt:** Harry Potter/Remus Lupin & Severus Snape/Fire and Air; Autumn; Cranky, Innocent and Nervous; First [passionate] Kiss; Arabia  
 **Rating:** very hard, very mature NC17

* * *

**_ Disclaimer:_** The world of Harry Potter, its characters and settings are the copyrighted works of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., her publishing companies and affiliates. No profit was made from the writing of this story nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author or the actors/actresses who so brilliantly have brought them to life. 

This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.

§¤§¤*§*¤§¤§ 

**Main Pairing:** Remus Lupin [The Welsh Wolf/Lleuad (Welsh for Moon)]/Severus du Snape [Alchemist to de Morte/Assassin/spy for The Bee]

 **Other Characters:** Minerva McGonagall [crone/right-hand of The Bee]; Albus of Dumbledore [The Hive Keeper/The Bee]; Sir Sirius Black [Lord of Grimmauld]; Lucius Malfoy [Count de Malfoi of Loches]; Hermione Granger [wife of Sir Black]; Harold de Portieres [godson of Sirius and Hermione Black]; James Potter [father of Harold]; Lady Bellatrix Lestrange; Crabbe and Goyle [the idiots]; Amycus Carrow [Carrow-the-Carrion Eater]; Rodolphus and Rabastan [Lestrange and his toady of a brother]; Tom Riddle/The Dark Lord Voldemort [Vol de Morte]; Hermes [Lupin’s war Thestral]

§¤§¤*§*¤§¤§ 

“So tight…so silky…” Remus pulled the dark hair and drew the man’s head back relentlessly, until the throat was bared to his teeth, his tongue. “Too bad you’re not the man I want!” he muttered. He thrust brutally, pushing his partner into the bricks of the wall as if to thrust the prostitute into the very structure of the building they were fucking against.

“Aahhh….c-c-coming…c-c-coming…” the anonymous asshole whimpered.

“Don’t care…” hissed Remus Lupin, one-time white knight of the Phoenix and now wand-for-hire. “Yesss…” One more thrust and he spilled himself into the tight, hot confines of the prostitute. He lounged for a minute on the wreck of humanity still pressed into the stone wall of the alley, uncaring that the man was getting scraped raw by those same stones. 

With a grunt, Remus disengaged himself and laced up his trews, pulling down his jerkin and chain mail, and turning away without a word. A negligent hand tossed three Knuts in the general direction of the whore, who with the quickness borne of hunger, caught it without even looking.

“Same time next week, milor’?” he rasped out.

Standing at the alley’s entrance, Remus looked back. “No, Euan. No more. Go see Sir Black’s stable hands. Tell them The Wolf sent you. They’ll give you a meal, a bed, and a job you don’t have to round your heels for. We’re at an end.” He left without hearing the prostitute’s pleading voice; instead, he heard the sound of warm brandy, spiced with oranges and smelled the richness of ginger made flesh.

§§§♀♥♀§§§

“Yer a hard mon, Remus John.” The voice could belong only to one witch…Minerva McGonagall, right-hand of The Hive Master, Albus of Dumbledore. “Take yer plea-zure so rough, then jest walk awa’. Hard an’ hard ‘nough for the Bee ta use.” She always exaggerated her brogue in the belief that any poke at the English was a glorious victory for the Scots.

Standing tall and refusing to look in her direction, Remus absorbed her words, the environment around them, and the knowledge she’d let slip so cunningly: they wanted his sword and his wand for some scheme. He counted the gold and silver laid aside—more silver than he could touch, but, he wouldn’t tell them that—and realized he needed the work. “State your business, crone. The Frankish knights are come and Sir Black wants me to vet them before Matins.” He looked at his nails, broken and one bruised from the practice battle they’d held just that morn; one more minute of silence and he’d be gone, uncaring for what the great White Wizard Albus wanted of him.

The heavy touch of a staff against his arm had Remus tugging the offending bit of wood out of Minerva’s hands and thrusting it up and under her pointy nose. He hadn’t broken a sweat, but then, neither had she. They both blinked slowly, assessing each other once again; the first and last time Remus Lupin had faced off with Minerva McGonagall had been over the cradle of the recently orphaned Harold of Portieres. He’d won then, and he would win today. “State your business,” he gritted out from behind teeth slightly lengthened into fangs.

“Aye, ye’ll do.” Minerva stepped back, releasing her hold on the staff, and conceding the victory. “The Bee wants ye to hunt dow’ the sonnobitch known as de Morte’s alchemist. He’s a greezy, slimy toad o’mon by name of Severus du Snape.” She let her eyelids fall to half-mast and surveyed the broad-shouldered Welsh Wolf, shield-arm of the Grimmauld family and mercenary wand; he was a man she’d once have taken to her bed—drugged and gagged—but, still attractive. The crone also saw the tension of those shoulders when she mentioned du Snape; there was a history there.

“Du Snape, eh? What’s the assassin done now?” The air grew heavy with magick as it leaked from Remus. The witch took a step back, summoning her staff with a flick of her hidden wand. 

Still backing up, Minerva began talking…quickly. “Du Snape’s been implicated in the assassination of Count Abraxas de Malfoi of Loches. His son, Lucius, has brought the charges.” Her brogue fell away like the leaves that whipped around the pair of them in the autumn wind . “The Bee wants to keep de Malfoi close, and by sacrificing du Snape, he keeps the ties to the inner circle of de Morte open to his influence.” Minerva had backed into the fieldstone curtain wall, trapped by the building magick of the Wolf.

“The Bee will…Albus will sacrifice his greatest asset for de Malfoi’s loathesome favour?” The growl that threaded through Remus’ question had the hairs on the back of McGonagall’s neck standing up. He strode forward, finally crowding her physically and not just magickally. His wand and sword had appeared in his hands—as if by magick, and mostly likely so—both aimed at her heart. “I’ll not do it! Not for God, gold, nor the dubious glory of Albus of Dumbledore’s notice! Be off, hag, and tell him not to throw his warriors away so easily!” He cast a dark purple spell and the witch was gone, set painfully outside of Grimmauld Castle’s moat.

“Tha’ could’ve gone better, Wolf.” The dry voice came from the shadows, the very same alley Remus had been fucking in earlier. “I thought ye’d hold that burnin’ temper o’ yer’s.” The tall, dark-haired, grey-eyed lord of all things Black and Grimmauld surveyed his former squire with a gimlet eye. “Ye coulda killed the bitch with that spell.” He sat on a pickling barrel and waved his right foot from side to side, seemingly admiring the sheen on his leather boot.

Still fuming, sword sliding easily into its scabbard but wand at the ready, Remus crossed his arms and tried to call his magick back to his core. The minutes passed and the sounds of a living castle—horses neighing, the clanging from the farrier’s shed, the cries of the goose-girl as she herded her charges through the gate, the clash of arms from the tourney field—all of it washed over Lupin’s psyche, soothing the beast within and the magick that had rushed to defend Severus. “Damn that interfering Bee!” grumbled Remus. “How could he sacrifice Severus? Tell me, Black, tell me how I should have handled that?” He closed his eyes, trying to hide the amber gleam of the beast.

Jumping nimbly from the barrel, Sir Sirius Black—tenth Lord of Grimmauld Castle and confidante—wrapped a manly arm around his lieutenant. He huffed through his nose and spoke plainly, “You love the damned spy. If it had been me…well, let’s just say the bitch would still be burning in the fires of Hell. Ye could’ve killed her, and ye didn’t. Yer a better man than I. Now, come! Hermione’ll have my head if ye don’t sit at table with us, above the salt, mind!” Sirius pulled his friend towards the main doors of the keep, hoping that his wife of a year could help Remus save the love of his life.

§§§♀♥♀§§§

James Potter stood in the Forest of Darkness, watching the comings and goings of Castle Grimmauld. The rags he’d been wearing had been replaced by some dead nobleman, left by the wayside in some anonymous Frankish village. He turned the dagger in his hand over and over, then replaced it with a stolen wand. Somewhere in there, in the hands of Sirius Black and the Welsh Wolf, his son was languishing. His lips pulled back in a grimace. “I’ll kill you, Lupin. You should never have done it.” James faded back into the shadows and into his Animagus form. The tall stag snorted and pawed, then abruptly turned and leapt into the bushes.

§§§♀♥♀§§§

Sirius looked at his wife and she stared back. “The wards…he’s here, isn’t he, love?” Hermione’s voice was still low, roughened from her time in the hands of Vol de Morte’s minions almost a year past. They had rescued her at the same time they had taken Harry—Harold of Portieres, and Sirius’ godson—from the hands of the Eaters of Death. “I always wondered why we never found his body.” She thought back to the stone byre in their chapel, holding the bones of Lady Lily; Harry so loved to go there, taking his first walk to touch it and coo at his dead mother’s effigy.

“Pansy?” Hermione motioned for her favourite lady-in-waiting. “Would you bring Harry to me?” She shared a blinding smile with Lady Pansy; all the ladies in the castle loved the tyke. “Sirius, love, come sit with me. Remus…no, don’t go. You hardly touched your meal, Sir Knight.” She beckoned Lupin closer, the only person besides Sirius and Severus that Remus allowed such intimacy.

Remus bowed and then knelt on one knee at his lady’s side. She petted his head and drew him close, pressing a chaste kiss on his brow. Knowing her husband would grant her this boon, Hermione whispered, “Go find him, Wolf. Your heart cries for his, and we will not be safe until he resides with us, within these stout walls.” The Lady Black was a force to be reckoned with, even if she was so dainty as to fit beneath a thimble in Remus’ opinion. He looked to his lord and received a nod. 

“Go on wit’ ye, Wolf!” Sirius grinned and hugged his wife close. “Just make certain to hug the wee whelp, or Harry’ll cry night and day for his Loopy.” He took Harry from Pansy’s arms with a smile and laid the happy babe in Remus’ arms. Harry’s pudgy arms reached for his greying hair, tugging at the wayward locks before Lupin pried them from those childish fingers.

“I’ll find Uncle Severus for you, little Prince. I know he misses you very much. I feel it in my heart.” Remus pressed a soft kiss into the boy’s messy dark hair and handed him back to his godfather and godmother-by-marriage. “We’ll be back,” he addressed the adults. “I swear it on my honour.” He bowed his head to them both, kissing Harry’s plump cheeks and both of Hermione’s blushing ones, and blowing a smart salute to Sirius.

The door was closing behind Remus when he heard something as precious as Severus’ avowals of love. “Loopy! Wub Loopy!”

§§§♀♥♀§§§

The cold of autumn lent a chill to stones and Severus du Snape’s bones in turn. De Malfoi’s minions—Goyle and Crabbe—just had to be standing at the gate to the fruit orchard; the others—Lestrange and his toady of a brother, Rabastan, Carrow the Carrion-eater, and Vol de Morte—were congregated in front of the stable, inspecting a filly of unusual color and temperament. His avenues of escape were getting closed and, if he didn’t do something soon, Severus would become but one of a number of inmates in the bowels of Loches.

The rat-like Pettigrew—English scum!—scuttled by his hiding place and fell on his knees in the mud, forehead just barely hovering above the muck. “Milor’, Milor’!” he lisped. “Du Snapthe has wanished! Lady Bwellatwix begs audienthe.” He writhed in response to the _Crucio_ that came from de Morte’s wand. The Unforgivable went on for two minutes as de Morte and de Malfoi finished their discussion.

“Stop snivelling, Pettigrew. Lead me to Lady Bellatrix. Carrow, send someone to sniff out du Snape. When he’s dead or, at least, back in the dungeons, find me. Come, my fellows, let us not dawdle. If nothing else, my cock wants a warm, slick place to rest for a few minutes.” The wizards followed de Morte, laughing like crows at a feast. Rodolphus merely grinned; who was he to withhold his wife’s charms from de Morte?

Severus almost choked on the bile that the image of Bellatrix’s next rape brought to mind. She’d already been driven mostly mad by the repeated rapes by the other Eaters of Death. He winced at the lame excuses he’d given: rape would corrode his alchemic magick; rape would lessen his manly essences; he was saving himself for his damsel, etc. Du Snape felt the fire in his veins as he pictured his Welsh Wolf, writhing in passionate abandon beneath him. He kept that image close to his heart as he cast a Notice-Me-Not charm and sidled around the corner of the gate.

Steeling himself to only Stun the guard stationed on the other side of the gate, Severus tripped over a forgotten rake. The noise he made as he fell into a small wagon loaded with empty bushels drew the guard’s attention, but the assassin’s aim was sure, and the man went down like a sack of wheat. Severus knew the man was dead; it was the only way to make certain no information was available to the abhorrent, aberrant inner circle, and his instinct had always been death first. He followed the rutted cart path just past the gate, flitting from apple tree to apple tree.

He only stopped moving when he passed the anti- _Appareo_ boundary. Dropping to the ground, Severus drew in gulping breaths, hoping that he had at least one minute to think, to set the placement of the Saxon coastline firmly in his mind. He felt the sting of Vol de Morte’s call; the back of his left hand—a sinister mark on his sinister hand, the snake had cackled as he seared in the design—glowed sickly green, burning and distracting him from his destination. The sizzle of Dark magick washed over his skin, tainting it with pain. Du Snape didn’t let that stop him, however; he simply pictured a safe place and dissolved from sight.

§§§♀♥♀§§§

A nervous wolf was a cranky wolf, and Lleuad’s hackles were raised while he gnawed at a pig’s knuckle. The full moon lit the cave entrance, but the lycanthrope ignored it. He missed his mate, and the crunch of bones made it only more poignant. Somewhere in his lupine mind, the wolf wished the bones were those of the pack that separated him from his mate. His human portion, the soul some would say, held the beast—Lleuad—at bay, watching and waiting for the daylight and the chance to hurt in a form that would truly damage the Dark pack.

As the moon’s time passed and Aurora brightened the sky, Lleuad’s body contorted with a snapping of bones. In the dark at the back of a cold cave, Remus John Lupin woke shivering. “Damn! Why can’t the beast leave me a cover for morn?” he muttered aloud. After stretching and checking himself for any debilitating aches, the Wolf reached for his wand wedged high on a rocky shelf and Summoned his armour and clothes from a tree just outside the cave. Once he was covered, Remus ate some dark, hard bread and crumbly cheddar; he smiled at the thought that the first time he’d eaten the cheese had been off of Severus’ tight arse one fantastic night. The smile slipped off his face as he gathered his gear and whistled for the half-tame Thestral he always rode into battle.

Hermes the Thestral responded quickly, gliding down and pawing at the ground once he’d landed. In his animal brain, he understood the pain the beast howled out into the night, and the stallion relished the idea that there would be fresh meat if the Wolf—man and beast—had their way. Remus mounted the docile—for him—war Thestral, and they flew into the sun, after a Point-Me spell towards Severus du Snape.

“I’m coming, my Snake. I’m coming, and Death will dance on de Morte’s grave.” Remus’ vow floated on the air, unheard by any but the settling owls and waking mourning doves.

§§§♀♥♀§§§

Bellatrix’s ideas about the whereabouts of du Snape had been screamed out as both Rodolphus and de Morte took her at the same time. Neither paid much attention to her mutterings as her brother-in-law observed the mechanics of the double-penetration. He dropped his trews, kicked off his smalls, and set aside his boots as he asked for permission to join them. “Milord de Morte, may I be welcomed into the heat? I think you’ve loosened her cunnus for yet more.” Count de Malfoi rubbed and stroked himself as he waited for de Morte’s nod.

“Strip yourself, Lucius. Join me in her arse and we will ream her together. Rodolphus, disengage and then rejoin us once Lucius is sharing this delightful closeness with me.” De Morte’s pointed cock slid out slightly as Lestrange pulled out of his mewling, mad wife. Lucius had dreamed of fucking Bellatrix ever since he’d seen her at his wedding, but he was never allowed to plant his seed in her womb; for all de Morte’s madness, he only allowed himself or Rodolphus that pleasure. Still… 

“As you wish, milord.” The thunk of his sword and wand was softened by the pile of his clothes and de Malfoi stepped forward, then fell to his knees to straddle his Dark Lord. Rodolphus guided the barely coherent woman over their cocks—de Morte’s stained crimson already—and pushed her down until both glans passed the loosened quoit. Once she was positioned, Rodolphus took his place in her cunnus once more, kneeling over the legs of his brother Dark wizards. Bellatrix’s screams echoed throughout the castle’s halls and brought tears to all those who heard them, unless they were Eaters of Death.

§§§♀♥♀§§§

The Thestral wheeled over a shadowy glade, keening and neighing at the smell of old blood. Remus’ pulled on the reins and got the animal to land as he jumped from its back and landing in a defensive posture. For over a week, they’d travelled, always a step behind. He sniffed and caught the whiff of the old blood that the Thestral had cried for. He let his nose lead him to a bundle of torn rags partially hidden under a yew tree.

“No…no closer…no…” the bundle moaned. Remus started forward, dropping his sword even as his wand moved, casting healing spell upon strengthening spell.

“Severus?…Hush…let me help you.” The bundle—du Snape—ceased moaning as the pain was leavened. Lupin gently turned him over, grimacing at the rainbow of colours that he could see overlaying the other wizard’s aura. “You’re carrying some Dark hexes and they’ve burrowed into your skin, my love. It will take me some time to break their hold on your body.” Remus Summoned his shrunken sheepskin from his saddlebag, enlarged it and covered Severus as he began mentally sorting through the spells he needed to undo.

The Thestral flew off to hunt, and the sun travelled through sky as Remus healed his lover. The sweat dripped into his eyes as Severus screamed; the hexes had wormed their way onto the alchemist’s bones, twining themselves into the muscles and tendons. Seeing those beloved dark eyes squinting up at him, the Welsh Wolf turned into du Snape’s lapdog, lavishing light kisses on the bitten lips and sunburned cheeks. “You’ve scared me enough, my Snake. Do you want some anise tea? Just nod.” He got a wary nod. “ _Accio_ anise tea!” The pewter cup flew through the air to land in Remus’ outstretched hand. He held Severus up and helped him drink half of it.

“It will be several more hours before you’re hex-free, Severus. I’ve got some potions to help you sleep while I continue. Do you think you can swallow something thick?” He grinned at the innuendo and the flash in du Snape’s eyes as he nodded yes. In short order, the potions were imbibed, Severus sank into sleep, and Remus began again.

Hermes returned to perch in a mighty oak nearby, hiding his head under his wing as he too went to sleep. The night awoke with the sound of a hunting owl. The moon rose, its power waning for yet another twenty-eight days. As the temperature dropped, Remus huddled closer to Severus waiting for the final spells to take effect.

Casting warning spells, heating charms and Notice-Me-Not’s upon both of them, Lupin finally fell asleep, deeply asleep, for the first time since the crone’s visit. His mate, his Snake, was once again safe. Somewhere deep inside, a primeval part of the lycanthrope howled both its joy and its revenge to the sky.

§§§♀♥♀§§§

“Rodolphus…” De Morte wove his thin fingers through the wizard’s helm-cut hair, ruffling it and then smoothing it, only to start over again. “I think you and I might need another wife soon.” He pointedly ignored the dark-haired woman rocking in the corner of the room; her vocal cords had finally broken and her silent keening was no distraction to them.

Rodolphus Lestrange rubbed his head into his lord’s hand. The breaking of Bellatrix had been pleasurable, yet, he yearned for more _vigorous_ fare. “Yes, milord. Do you have someone in mind?” he mumbled. His eyes fell to his master’s lap. “May I, milord?” Lestrange gestured toward the tent in his master’s trews.

“Oh, yes. Suck my prick whilst I think of whom your new bride should be.” De Morte hissed with pleasure as his heated manhood was revealed; he hissed again when Rodolphus’s mouth sucked his cock in to the root. His reddening eyes rolled into the back of his head as the sycophant’s mouth pleasured him. “Yesss…”

“Would that you were a woman with a cunnus, Rodolphus. I’d fuck you night and day until you grew round with my seed,” whispered de Morte. He used both hands to guide Lestrange’s mouth up and down his rod again.

Without warning, de Morte came in Rodolphus’s mouth, holding the other man’s head over his cock and almost choking him. He didn’t release Lestrange until he beckoned Pettigrew over. “Pettigrew, clean his mouth for me. I hate the taste of come in my kisses.” Thoroughly debauched and sated, de Morte watched as Rodolphus turned to Pettigrew and spit the come into the traitor’s mouth. Pettigrew was always the receptacle and never the recipient, and they all knew it would never change. The traitor swallowed it and then licked Lestrange’s mouth clean, rat-like eyes shining with loathing. Once the come was completely gone, de Morte pulled Rodolphus to him and kissed him breathless. Once again, Pettigrew the traitor was forgotten; he slunk away. 

Smiling, the Eater of Death responded, “Milord, if I had a cunnus, you would have had my virginity front and rear years ago.” Rodolphus had always harbored a weakness for de Morte, and now he revelled in his position as his lord’s sodomite. He slanted a look at his brother, Rabastan, and Amycus Carrow; the two were still sucking each other’s cocks and not coming until their lord allowed it. He leaned up to kiss his Dark lover’s chin and fell asleep at the wizard’s side, secure in the knowledge that of them all, de Morte would protect him. _How wrong he was…_

As his lover slept against his ribs, de Morte—once known as Thomas Riddle the jester’s son—plotted. Bellatrix was broken beyond repair and his hope for an heir of royal blood dashed. De Malfoi may be his lieutenant but his loyalties were questionable. Without du Snape at his side, there was a void of power that none of the others could fill. And without the blood of Potter or his son, the English magicks would not bend to de Morte. All-in-all, there were few choices to make on his bloody path to power. 

“Carrow, come!” He waited for the squat male to almost smother his partner as he finally spewed his putrid jism down Rabastan’s throat. Once Amycus rolled off the still-bespelled Lestrange brother, de Morte waited only long enough for the Carrion-eater to grab his robes and prostrate himself. “Carrow, take men out to the woods and begin another search for du Snape. I can feel him. He’s still nearby, most likely weakened by my hexes.” As Carrow scuttled backward, still naked, de Morte thought out loud. “If you catch him, don’t hurt him, Amycus. If he only has my spells warping his body, you’ll get Bellatrix to do with as you please.” He watched the Carrion-eater lick his lips with glee and shuddered; for all his perversions, even the Dark Lord of the Eaters of Death couldn’t begin to fathom what had broken Carrow’s mind so completely. He released the other Lestrange and watched the pearls of cream spew forth with a clinical eye. No one’s come was as _comely_ as Rodolphus’s or his own. He laughed softly at his own joke.

§§§♀♥♀§§§

The sizzle of spells burning the autumn air broke the morning silence. James Potter had spent hours in reconnaissance, making tables of the guards’ rotation and the shepherds and other animal-minders’ actions. After a fortnight, he was ready to attack. Potter detonated his hidden spells, sending the Grimmauld soldiers scurrying.

“Sirius Black, you bastard! Give me my son!” The _Sonorous_ James cast frightened little Harry, setting him to squalling in his godmother’s arms. The rest of the castle, from the sentries down to the pot-boys, were armed to the teeth. Holding Harry to her breast, Hermione prayed to Merlin and whoever else was listening, “Help us…help him…Oh, gods and goddesses…grant us surcease in our hour of need.” She then called her ladies-in-waiting together to weave a tapestry of protective spells over their home.

Sirius smiled grimly when he felt his wife’s magick flowing over and around the wards he’d just finished strengthening. His guards and knights stood taller in the wash of protection she and the ladies cast. “Archers to the battlements,” he bellowed. “Be wary! James Potter may be mad as March hare, but he’s the best strategist I’ve ever known.” He climbed up to the battlements with his archers and looked for his former best friend’s magickal signature.

He cast _Sonorous_ upon himself. “James Potter, show yerself and sue for peace. Harry’s waiting ta see yeh. Just…” his voice almost broke, “Just come peaceably, Jamie.” Sir Black tilted his head, listening for some kind of answer, and stepped behind the wall as a red spell—probably a Stunner—burned through the air. “Jamie, Jamie…let my goodwife look yeh over. There’s something wrong with ye.” Two more spells of varying redness hit the crenellations. Sirius ended the spell and leaned against the stone wall. 

James then answered with a bellow and a volley of wand arrows. The ward magick Hermione and her ladies had woven repulsed Potter’s arrows, breaking them in midair. The stones of Grimmauld Castle sang with the power pouring into them. The archers responded, overshooting the area James had been. Sirius’ muttered cursing was suddenly broken by a wail!

“Sirius! Harry…Sirius!” Hermione screamed. He turned to see his godson rising out of Hermione’s bower window, borne aloft as if on wings. The babe floated across to Sir Black’s arms with nary a hair out of place. His wife’s screeches ended when Harry’s little hand reached up to pat his godfather’s face.

“James, ye lucky sonnabitch!” Sirius looked down at those green eyes and smiled. “Don’t ye dare repeat that to yer godmum.”

Casting _Sonorous_ once again and a Shielding Charm on the two of them, Sirius stepped to the crenels, Harry still in his arms. “Jamie! Look here! Yer son’s come himself to show ye our peace!” The babe gurgled and babbled, plucking at Black’s armour and tabard. “Come to us, Jamie! Please? For Harry’s sake.” He ended the loudness spell and slid down, cradling the wee Potter in his arms.

“Black! How’d do I know that’s my lad? Dark hair does not a Potter of Portieres make, arse!” James had circled around to the east, masking his presence with the yew hedges there. “How do I know he’s my child?” came the plaintive cry. 

Finally fed-up with the insanity of men’s minds, Hermione marched up the stairs to stand by her man. Casting her own spell, she actually bellowed, “He’s your son, you daft man! Eyes like Lady Lily and your hair! He’s yours as certain as I carry my lord’s own child!” She clapped both hands over her mouth, eyes wide and aghast at letting such precious news slip. “Come inside and meet your boy, James Potter.” The spell ended when Sirius and Harry hugged her close.

The castle held its collective breath, waiting to see what James would do. He shifted from stag to man and over again, sorting through his frayed emotions and the knowledge just learned. His boy was safe. Hermione, sweet girl, never lied and she said that babe in Sirius’ arms was his little Harold. His boy had Lily’s eyes, so green and bright, and his messy mop that no knife could tame. He finally stilled his transformations and sent a signal of peace; the dove he Transfigured from a stone was as white as could be and he sent it winging to the battlements. _He could kill them later._

A loud whoop rang through the air and the whole castle brightened. The very stones whitened, the sound of warriors standing down was only broken by the creak of heavy oak gates opening to let a Harry-less Sirius run out onto the drawbridge. He waited, helm thrown back and grey eyes bright with hope. He opened his arms to welcome James to his home, his hearth, and peace. Passing through the portcullis, James ran when he sighted Harry in Hermione’s arms. Yes, there’d be peace in Grimmauld for now.

“James…James, he’s very healthy, your boy is.” Hermione’s voice faded away as Potter cried over the babe he’d only ever seen days after his birth, and only for moments before Vol de Morte’s attack. She could only watch, tears slowly falling down her face, as father and son became reacquainted. Sirius hugged her close, hand falling to rest protectively over his own child. 

Still sniffling, Hermione cast a diagnostic spell and found a weakening _Imperius_ which she quickly negated. Potter fell to his knees, still clutching his son. Sirius caught them just before the two were to meet the floor. He looked to his wife for an explanation.

“ _Imperius_ , my lord husband. I removed it. James should be better anon. Lady Pansy,” she clapped her hands, “take the Potters to the guest rooms. There is a spare cradle for Harry there already.” Hermione cuddled back against her husband and whispered, “Take me to my rooms, love. All this magick is tiring.” She smiled and pressed a soft kiss to Sirius’ cheek. “The babe needs to feel his father’s love, too.”

§§§♀♥♀§§§

Remus had pulled so many Dark hexes from Severus’ bones that the scars left from their removal were still dark pink, healing slowly. Du Snape moaned in a feverish fog, curled at the Wolf’s side. “Come back to me, Severus,” he whispered. “I will let nothing else hurt you, my Snake. Come back.” Lupin hugged his lover close, sharing his body heat and the wool blanket charmed for heat.

For two days he’d worked on Severus du Snape. The first night, he’d howled his anguish to the moon, spooking his war Thestral for hours. It was finally dawn of the third day, in that moment between night and dawn that Remus ran his hand over Severus’ forehead and felt the cooling sweat of a broken fever. The tears that had gathered in those amber eyes fell for only a minute before being dashed away.

“HERMES!” Lupin bellowed. The Thestral landed with his regular thumping run, trotting to his master. “Go and hunt, Hermes. Something with fat, say…a boar or a sow. Bring it back to me, and you’ll get half.” The Thestral shook his mane, snorted and took off.

Looking back toward the hedge Severus lay under, Remus began gathering more herbs and mosses for their meal. A healing broth and some meat later, and the two of them could make plans. At least once du Snape awoke, he hoped.

Humming a song from Cardiganshire and his youth, the Welsh Wolf recast his protection wards, hiding them yet again from spying eyes and evil intent. He set a large kettle on the fire to boil, cleaning his utensils by magick. “I can hear you, my Snake. No moving from the blankets until I’ve checked you over.” Remus smirked to himself and turned to look at the pale hand withdrawing from the sunshine. “Always rushing, Severus.” He looked down at his lover, still covered but for that straying hand.

After several diagnostic spells, Remus allowed the assassin to crawl out of their makeshift shelter and sit by the fire. “How long, Severus? I left Wales almost a fortnight ago, after the crone, McGonagall, tried to get me to kill you. The leaves were just starting to turn.” He had to step aside as his lover jumped. Raising one eyebrow, the lycanthrope knelt gracefully at Severus’ side and snogged the daylights out of the wizard. Du Snape graciously accepted his lover’s lips and tongue.

“Mmm…you taste like ale and cheese, my Wolf.” Severus’ voice was rough from lack of water and fever, but still soothing for Lupin’s nerves. “How much longer before the Thestral returns?”

“Half-an-hour, at most. Why? What do you have in mind? You’re recovering from massive spell damage and a fever.” Du Snape just laid back and threw the blankets open; he waved his wand as he cast a divestment spell and presented his naked, pink and white body to Remus’ glazing eyes.

“Oh-ho! I’m to do all the work, eh?” Remus’ fingers were fumbling with buckles and ties even as he spoke. It had been far too long that he’d slid into the silken heat of his lover, joining them body and soul. “No trouble, my Snake…this will be quick, but fulfilling…” Naked himself, Lupin pounced on his very willing lover, two fingers already questing for Severus’ rosy quoit, petting the soft skin and pushing in.

Their first passionate kiss in months was hot, wet, and sloppy by both their standards. Teeth got in the way, tongues were bitten, spit ran down chins to wet their chest. It was glorious! Remus’ fingers scissored inside of Severus’ channel, brushing ever-so-infrequently over the small bump that could bring so much pleasure. Still tired, du Snape’s legs flopped wantonly open, exposing more than his arse to Lupin’s ministrations. Neither could tell whose moans were more enticing and inflaming, but neither cared.

“Gods…Severus…I have to…I need to…” Remus settled himself between those long legs and replaced his fingers with a spit-wet cock. One shove and he was balls-deep, eyes crossing at the tight sheath’s caress. Severus’ head rolled side-to-side, his mouth open in silent moans. That instant in time, they ceased to be single entities, joining together to become something brighter than the sun shining upon them. “So…oh, Merlin… _urgh!_ …too long…too long…” The Wolf’s hips pushed and pistoned on their own as his mind had turned to melted candle wax at the first grasp of Severus’ arse.

Squinting into the sun, Severus willed his legs to clasp his Wolf closer. The movement also meant his channel rippled over the meaty staff filling him. Drawing on his reserves, du Snape gritted out, “Move, damn you! Fill me…fill me…FILL ME!” He screamed as his climax rushed out of him, the come seeming to pull his senses from him.

Lupin still thrust between his legs, pulling his hips so close that the fingerprints would be visible for days. “Ooo…aaahhh… **Argh!** ” Remus’ come shot from him like stones on a catapult, breaching the stronghold that was Severus and filling his lover with heat and light. He collapsed upon Severus, barely remembering to roll to the side to avoid crushing the slighter wizard. He huffed out, “Gods, I missed you…”

Severus grabbed his wand from the ground and cleaned them, setting the wand back in the holster resting on his arm. He turned and rested his head on the sweaty shoulder next to him, licking delicately to taste the Wolf’s exertions. “Never should be apart for…more than…eight days…” du Snape muttered tiredly. The rustle of the Thestral’s return roused him just enough to levitate the Wolf’s cloak over them. He poked his lover’s side. “Your steed has returned with food. Ten minutes and then you cook for me.” Remus felt the smile against his skin and smiled in return.

The candle wax between Remus’ ears solidified once again in the aftermath of their lovemaking, and he found the strength to rise and both clothe and armour himself. He covered the dozing Severus with both his cloak and the sheepskin and skinned his half of the boar Hermes had brought. A quarter of the meat was set aside under preserving charms and the rest was magicked into cutlets and chops, even a leg for smoking. The other haunch was put into the boiling water for a stew. 

An hour later, under the noonday sun, Severus woke up. “Wolf? Lupin?” he called. A minute later, cooling peppermint tea was pressed to his lips, soothing his parched throat. “Good…thank you.” He laid a hand on Remus’ arm, stilling him. “Thank you for coming for me, too.” Severus sat up, bunching the skin and cloak around him, sniffing the air with his impressive proboscis. “Mmm…boar stew, eh? Fennel seed, you need to add it soon. But…anise? Yes, that will make it interesting.” His eyes had drifted shut as he separated the scents, analysing them as only he—and his Wolf—could.

Running appreciative eyes over his lover’s naked chest and arms, Remus stirred the pot. “Tell me where you came from, Severus. I could smell de Malfoi on your tunic, de Morte in the spells, and Carrow—the cannibalistic one—on your cloak. Carrow-the-Carrion Eater? How did you get so close to that perversion, my Snake?” His eyes were loving but hard, glinting with a hint of the beast that was always within Lupin.

“De Morte was stymied without the boy’s blood. He is safe, yes?” Dark eyes were met with a smiling nod. “Good. Lady Lily’s son was…unique.”

Remus interrupted him. “Oh, he liked Uncle Severus, did he?” 

Blushing, du Snape continued as if nothing had been said. “De Malfoi and the Carrion-eater, as well as the Lestrange Brothers, began raping Lady Bellatrix for sport at the behest of de Morte. I’d spirited Lady Narcissa and her son, Draconis, away only hours before Bellatrix’s screams shivered into the stones of Loches.” Du Snape trembled at the horrible memories of a bloody woman and keening screams. Remus quickly crossed to Severus and bent down to put a hand on the man’s shoulder. 

Looking at some point between his feet and the fire, the assassin began his recitation. “I was trapped, only once, in the Lady’s bower. They had me stripped bare, but de Morte was not there. They did not find my second wand, you know, the one you gifted me after our first…anniversary? Well, I got away, _Accio’ing_ my clothing from a distance.” Severus stared down at his hands and smiled grimly. “They never touched what was mine to give.” 

“I know you had seen Euan…I too have a nose for such things…but he and I have always had an understanding. His hole is only for you when I am unavailable.” He slanted a sly look at his lover and laughed. “What? You thought I didn’t know? My Wolf, I love you, but I understand the beast and the man.” Severus gave a blindingly open smile to his bemused lover. “You are my heart, my Wolf, and only mine. But, if I am not there, Euan will ease you for me.” Remus bent down to steal his breath with a tongue-tangling kiss of thanks.

Catching his breath, du Snape grinned then sobered. “Anyway, back to the issue at hand. I ran away from Loches, de Malfoi’s current abode. De Morte’s hexes caught me as I passed the _Appareo_ border. Little did I know that the damn Dark Lord had woven more than one hex into the spells. I got away by the skin of my teeth and landed nearby. The rest, you know.” Severus wiggled his shoulders and slid farther down his impromptu pillows.

“Hmm…you are an adventurous sort, aren’t you?” Remus ladled out some stew into a conjured bowl and levitated it over to du Snape. They ate in silence, musing over everything each one had said. Out of the blue, du Snape mentioned, “Did you know James Potter…” the thin lips twisted into a sour grimace, “survived the attack? De Morte finally lost him in the woods outside of Portieres. Unluckily, the bastard sent an Imperius after the stag Potter’d become and the beast was nicked. De Malfoi caught him, caged him, but with Potter’s Luck, Potter escaped…and I’ll wager he’s off to kill his offspring.” He chewed and swallowed. “Unless? Hermione, Lady Black, she’s intelligent…she might overcome him.” He nodded to himself at the thought.

“If he tries anything, Hermione and her ladies will back-up Sirius and his knights. Her magick far outshines anything but the castle’s own.” Remus was rightly proud of his former student. She was a match for Sirius in all the important ways. Lupin swiped his fingers along the sides of his bowl, licking them, much to the delight of Severus’ libido.

“Are you rested enough, Severus? I—Lleuad and I—we need to…avenge you…Lady Lily…Harry. If we decimate de Morte’s ranks, we can help the bastard Bee and ourselves at the same time.” Remus’ eyes glowed a feral yellow beyond the warm amber Severus was used to seeing. Flashing lengthened fangs, Lupin growled. “I want the blackguards to pay for trying to force you, for breaking Bella—even if she was evil—for everything they did to us, to the Portieres. Help me, my Snake.”

Standing up smoothly from his blankets, Severus du Snake knelt at his lover’s feet and offered his wand. “On my Slytherin honour, on my life’s blood, on my love for you, I swear to help you. So mote it be!” A crash of thunder and the smell of ozone heralded Remus’ acceptance of the vow. He knelt on one knee and offered his wand as well.

“I, Remus John Lupin, the Welsh Wolf, swear upon my honour, my life’s blood, my love for you and my family, to wreck havoc upon de Morte’s men. So mote it be!” Again, the vow was accepted and then the scent of lavender flitted through the glade. Hermes bellowed, the forest gave voice in return, and the two wizards sighed at the feeling of renewed power.

“Lady Magick gives her blessing. Now, time to dress, Severus. Soon, soon, I’ll have you naked in my bed for days, celebrating our victory.” Remus helped du Snape to his feet, sensuously brushing the dirt away from his leg and absently stroking the heavy cock coming to attention. “Gods, I love your cock!” He pulled his lover close and devoured his mouth before setting him back. “Your clothes are in the other saddlebag. There’s another wand you can use stuck in the purse.”

They readied themselves, deconstructing the protective wards and cleansing their presence from the glade. Within half-an-hour, there was nothing to say any wizard had been there. Carrow and his men stumbled through there hours later, none the wiser.

§§§♀♥♀§§§

\

De Morte bellowed when he felt the _Imperius_ attached to Potter dissolve. “De Malfoi! Come here, you snivelling weasel!” The Dark wizard raged around the room, spewing curses and hexes indiscriminately until the room smelled like Death and Lady Bellatrix Lestrange had finally found peace due to a miscast Stunner. She gave a soft sigh and slumped in the corner.

Rodolphus cowered behind a charmed screen and felt the absence of his wife’s magick as she died. He fired a small shower of sparks in the air and saw them dissipate before they left his wand. The glamours he’d covered himself with—luxurious tresses, smooth skin, impressive cock—all faded away to nothing as his dark lover ruined the bower. The shouting and cursing stopped when Lucius skidded into the room, panting, “My…lord…you…”

“De Malfoi,” ground out de Morte, “you assured me Potter was dying in your dungeons. Tell me how I felt the reversal of the _Imperius_ I laid upon him?” The wand twirling in those thin, wicked fingers stopped and pointed at Lucius’ crotch. De Malfoi audibly gulped. “How did he escape, my Frankish lord?” A burning hex hit the Count’s thigh, smoke coming from the small hole and the stench of crisped flesh rising to his nose. He whimpered and fell to roll back and forth on the floor.

“My lord…my lord…I didn’t know…Petti-Pettigrew!” he screeched. “He was a childhood friend of Portieres …maybe he released him?” The question hung in the air until….

“ _Accio_ Pettigrew!” roared de Morte. The increasing thump-bump-scream of Pettigrew’s travel through the castle’s corridors warned them of his eminent arrival. The bruised and bloody lump that arrived was missing an arm and its head. “It seems my anger coloured my magick. There will be no answers from that quarter. Set the meat aside for Carrow. He’ll need energy when we move.” The Dark Lord Vol de Morte sat drooping in his chair, surrounded by death, destruction, and foul intent. He called for Rodolphus and was surprised at the unappetizing male that approached.

“Rodolphus?” Lucius, de Morte and Rabastan stared at Lestrange’s natural image; the skin was raddled with pockmarks, the color was sallow, the left eyelid drooped and the lips were slack, with drool dribbling out with each breath. De Morte cringed away. He’d had his dick in _that?_ Something snapped. He squealed and shot a whimpering _Avada Kedavra_ at the man’s head and it exploded on contact. The red spray painted the walls, shocking them all.

“De Malfoi…clean…clean this room. Gather my warriors…yes, warriors…we’re leaving this place of pestilence.” De Morte Summoned his cloak and a broom. “Meet me at Calais in two hours. Those who refuse you, you may…disembowel…with my pleasure.” The once-green eyes were now shot through with red and the supple body was stiff, as if a puppet had taken up residence in the formerly charismatic leader. He kicked off and flew through a hole previously blasted in the bower wall. Lucius stared at Rabastan, perplexed.

“Are you going to follow that madman?” Lucius de Malfoi of Loches was a proud man, attracted to power and perversion in equal parts. Unfortunately for de Morte, his breakdown weakened the hold he had on the two wizards—and their Gringotts vaults and their knights. Rabastan shook his head.

“Merlin, no! I’d rather fight the Jinn in the sands of Arabia than follow that!” The remaining scion of Lestrange tore his wand from its sheath and began casting spell upon spell, collecting his things and whatever booty Lucius let him take. “What will you do, brother? Without his aegis, you cannot indulge your love of blood and sex so wholly.” He wrapped his cloak around him, secured it with a wide leather belt and shrank his chests to a manageable size.

Lucius watched his silver plate disappear into Rabastan’s chest without a care. There was no noble son to prize it. Not after all the things he had done under de Morte’s guidance and protection. “No, brother, I will…I will attempt to reclaim myself.” He scrubbed his face with one hand and burned the symbol of the sun into the back of his left hand. “Perhaps…I’ll be less…driven to…” He trailed off, lost in the maelstrom of his mind.

When de Morte left Loches proper, he withdrew the energy-sucking charms that he used to subdue his followers. Loches innate magick rushed into Lucius’ core, swamping the residual magick and releasing his mind. “Oh, damnation! Rabastan…he was using us!” De Malfoi’s white blond locks rose in a wind only he could feel. “THAT BASTARD!” he screamed. “I’ll kill him! I’ll wear his skin as my cloak! Oh, God…He had me rape my own sister-in-law!” The lord of the castle collapsed in a sobbing heap. 

Rabastan, while not as averse to the perversions he’d participated in as Lucius, could understand the cries as he’d never wanted to suck anyone’s cock no matter their beauty. He pulled Lucius to his feet, banishing the tear tracks and Summoning their armour. “I like women, love them. I worship the cunnus between their legs and the softness of their spirits. I want to gut him with a rusty spoon* and watch Carrow feast on his entrails.” He tied back his hair and pulled up his battered helm.

“Come with me, de Malfoi. Help me avenge our families or wallow in your tears.” Rabastan Lestrange stepped though the battered room’s doors and stomped off. Lucius firmed his backbone and donned his armour. He glanced around the room, finally crossing to pull a tapestry from the wall and cover the broken body of his sister-in-law.

“I’m so sorry, Bella…this…this never should have happened, not to you, not to us. I will…” De Malfoi bowed his head. “I vow upon my family’s honour, upon my magick, I will right this, Bellatrix, or I will die in the attempt. So mote it be!” The stones of the castle shone with the binding of the vow, again flooding Lucius’ veins with cleansing magick.

He turned and followed Rabastan, bellowing a Summons for his sword and shield. De Morte’s machinations would not prevail again.

§§§♀♥♀§§§

Days later, outside the curtain wall of Grimmauld Castle, Remus Lupin and Severus Snape touched down with a thump. “Damnation, Wolf, the Thestral needs a better saddle. My arse is sore, man!” Severus groused. Remus just laughed and patted du Snape’s arse lovingly.

“More likely it’s what we did last night with that whip and the brie that has you sitting funny and walking hard.” The Welsh Wolf laughed, a booming sound that brought heads over the battlements and cries of, “They’re back…Get Sir Black…They’re back!”

The stout oak doors creaked open with a bang, and Sirius ran out to greet his best friend and knight lieutenant, and the wizard he’d come to terms with years ago. “Remus!” He hugged the lycanthrope, thumping his back hard and then released him. He offered a friendly hand to Severus, pleased that the man took it with a minimum of fuss. “Come, both of you! We’ve had excitement aplenty whilst you’ve gone roving. Wife! Wife, I say! The boys are home! Break open the wine!” he bellowed.

Hermione’s gay laughter rolled out to greet them as they climbed the stairs to the Great Hall. A dark-haired man, broad of shoulder but shorter than Severus, looked up from his place on the floor playing with Harry. His hazel eyes brightened when they lit upon Lupin, but clouded over when they found Severus at his side. Remus’ shout cemented the knowledge. “JAMES!”

Severus’ feet dragged to a stop as his Wolf rushed forward to pull Potter from the floor and smother him in a bear hug. It was Harry’s gurgled “Sevuwus…Unca Sevuwus!” that brought a small smile to the assassin’s face. James almost swallowed his tongue when his son pulled himself up to his feet by way of his father’s leg and toddled to du Snape’s arms. Smirking inside, Severus picked up Lily’s son and hugged him, smelling the innocent scents of childhood. “Hello, Harold of Portieres. Have you been a good boy for your godparents?” He rubbed noses, ignoring the smothered laughter from Sirius.

“Nah-nah…Goo’ boy, Hawwy!” A grin that had two more teeth than when last Severus held the babe was answered with his own sly smirk.

“He’s learned, hasn’t he, Lady Hermione?” Arms still around Harry, du Snape bowed gracefully towards the lady of the castle. “Potter. You’ve a strong son here.” He handed the toddler to his father and turned away. “See you keep a better eye on Lily’s boy.” The assassin strode away in the direction of his and Remus’ rooms.

Lupin choked back a cry and just smirked, much like his lover. It seemed that his lover had tendered an olive branch to James. “So, do you accept his truce? Or will you be a mutton-headed idiot and throw away Severus’ friendship once again?” Remus crossed his arms and stared at father and son. 

Sirius and his wife merely looked on, spectators in their own home, but glad nonetheless. “He’s a good man, Jamie. Ye’d be a fool to turn away du Snape agin. He’s not one to tender third chances.” Sirius’ wry voice hid a wealth of meaning as he knew what having du Snape as a friend truly meant. “Lily would want ye to, ye know it.”

Hermione’s soft voice echoed her husband. “He is good. Good and true and kind, in his own way. Without him, Remus would have let the beast take him over; instead, he fought and won and now our Wolf lives at peace because of his mate.” She looked up at Sirius, a glance that spoke so much more. “We won’t let you hurt him, either of them, James of Portieres.” She plucked Harry from his father’s arms and left the men to their own devices.

Shaking his head, Remus slouched down onto a settee and crossed his leg over his knee. “She’s the fiercest warrior in Severus’ corner, James. Give in graciously and you’ll find out why Lady Lily championed him so fiercely.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, twisting and loosening tight muscles. “You’ll also find out why he’s my mate, my heart, and why you’d best not hurt him.” The beast’s growl threaded through the man’s words, sharpening them, ready for whatever James might do.

Standing in the middle of the Great Hall, bereft of his son, James of Portieres, a Potter born and bred, thought long and hard. For almost nine months he had let his heart search for his son, something he would have done without the _Imperius_ laid upon him. But here, in Grimmauld Castle, he had a healthy son, good friends, even a reminder of his lady-wife’s childhood in du Snape. Heaving a great sigh, James spoke, “On the honour of this house, our friendship past and future, I lay aside my ire at Severus du Snape. I will…approach the man with both caution and respect. So mote it be!” The sizzle of lightning danced across the Great Hall’s ceiling as the vow sank into everyone’s bones.

Rubbing his hands together, Sir Black lightened the mood as only he could. “Well, that went well. Who’s hungry?” He grinned at his friends and let loose a barking laugh. They all joined in and settled at the head table as Sirius bellowed for a light repast, and instructions to find Hermione, Harry and Severus.

Laughter preceded Hermione’s entrance, with Harry riding on Severus’ shoulders. James looked on, wonder shining from his eyes. Yes, a truce with Severus du Snape would make his life that much better. “Oi, du Snape…gallop this way! You’re looking a bit winded.” They all laughed, Severus softest of all, but the smile on his narrow face found matching ones on everyone he cared for, even James’ face. Their truce would hold.

§§§♀♥♀§§§

Alone in Calais, de Morte huddled in a squalid doorway, steps away from the busy quay. When he’d blasted Rodolphus dead, he’d lost the receptacle of the magick he’d been leached from the others. His body had deteriorated at a startling pace; he now resembled a walking, skeletal snake with stringy black hair. None of his sycophants had come to him. He whimpered into the thick wool of his cloak and plotted their demises.

He plucked at the purse at his side and felt the Galleons and the shrunken broom, the only things he had of any value besides his wand and his daggers. De Morte watched the ships unloading, trying to find some way to cross the hostile waters to England and the others of his brotherhood. _There!_ He saw a Moorish sloop, small but fast, bobbing near the lighthouse.

Casting _Imperius_ on a wharf-rat, de Morte found himself being rowed out to the sloop. Halfway there, a nonverbal command to drown himself had the scruffy youth plunging over the side of the skiff and the former Dark scourge of all magick was banging on the hull, begging the Moors to take him across the water to die. When the ranking official—a Vizier—allowed it, the Moors couldn’t row and sail fast enough to remove the shaking, withering thing from their decks.

At the White Cliffs, they put him in a scull and pushed him off, pulling away as fast as magick could make them. The whiff of decay that hung around de Morte had only grown stronger on the passage to the land of the Infidels. “May Allah chain you to the Great Stones!” some brave soul shouted before he fell into the freezing waters of the Channel. Dying could not deflect de Morte’s aim when Death came from his wand.

§§§♀♥♀§§§

The weeks since the return of Severus and James passed in a haze of laughter and rediscovery for both of them. It also strengthened their truce, especially when both men were appointed godfathers by Lady Hermione. Neither would gainsay her for anything, thus, they were finally to be family.

In a walled herb garden, Potter, Potter and du Snape lazed the day away. Dandling Harry on his knee, James asked something that he’d always wondered about. “Did you love her, Severus?” He watched his son’s open face, delighting in the small changes each hour seemed to bring to the toddler’s person; his ears, however, were waiting for an answer.

“She was…Lady Lily was who the troubadours wrote and sang about, a lady above reproach or shame. As a child, she protected me from the abuses of my father; as a youth, she tried to protect me from your misconceptions; as a woman, she was what I would have wanted as a sister. I loved her, make no mistake.” Severus stripped the leaves from a stalk of catnip and set them in his leather bowl. He stayed on his knees, hands curled into fists. “I hated you, your airs, your ego. I…I did not think you loved her enough. Yet, she loved you enough to gift you with Harold.” Finally looking up, du Snape’s black eyes found James’ hazel ones and a look of deep grief was shared and let go.

“I never appreciated what she saw in you. But watching you with Harry…you love him as you loved his mother, don’t you?” The grin he flashed over his son’s tousled head found its mate on Severus’ lean face. “Good. Now that we understand each other, how about you tell me what good catnip is?” The rest of the afternoon passed in a simplified potions lecture. Harry cooed and babbled in all the right places, surprising both of the adults into shared amusement. 

Breathless, Sirius stumbled to a halt and gasped out, “Severus, James…c’mon! We’re needed inside. De Morte’s knocking on the portcullis.”

§§§♀♥♀§§§

De Morte’s emaciated form wavered at the foot of the Grimmauld portcullis. He shot hex after charm after imprecation at the unyielding castle. The sparks flew over him, burning holes into his tattered cloak and leggings. The Dark Lord never felt a thing since days earlier the nerves of his flesh had died, leaving scabrous patches on the skin that was revealed.

“Give me Potter!” he screamed brokenly. “I am Lord Vol de Morte! I am the darkest of wizards! I…DEMAND…PO-TTER!” The guards on the battlements felt the heat of his spells and the smell of death on the man below them, yet they never turned away, only watching the madman’s assault.

Sirius and James stood watching the spells bounce off the Grimmauld Castle walls and ricochet into the moat. “For such a boggart, he’s really quite small…and mad.” He directed his men to pour the boiling oil down onto de Morte, trying to move him from the entryway.

Creeping up silently, even dressed in his heavy plate, the Welsh Wolf surprised his two friends. “Boo!” They jumped even as de Morte’s shield spell protected him from most of the boiling oil. “Damn, two great warriors you are!” His yellowing eyes widened at the sight of de Morte.

“Is that the fearsome Vol de Morte? He’s naught but a snake on legs,” he muttered. “It’s time to finish this farce, Black. Severus has charmed my sword; Hermione has laid her blessing as well. Hermes and I will go over the wall and meet him in the field.” Remus turned on his steel-clad heel with only a slight metallic scuff. The two wizards watched him become Black’s right-hand, his first knight.

Severus stood holding the reins of Hermes, golden spurs waiting to be donned. When Remus mounted, du Snape grabbed one foot and put on a spur and then walked around the Thestral to do the same to the other. “You will come back to me. Cover yourself in glory, my Wolf. My heart goes with you.” Every battle he had sent his Wolf to, those were the words he gave him. “Harry needs to know my mate,” he whispered.

Man and beast looked down at his mate. “Wait for me here, Severus. I will end this for us all, now.” The Thestral’s mighty wings flapped once, twice, and then the knight and his steed were in the air, circling the castle to the cheers of the men-at-arms.

When the Welsh Wolf appeared, de Morte tore out his remaining hair. He shot _Avada Kedavra_ after _Avada Kedavra_ , missing the elusive pair. One misstep and the opening Remus needed was there. Hermes swooped close enough for his master to jump from the saddle, sword raised, a golden sheen to its blade. A single thrust and Lupin’s right fist was pressed against de Morte’s breastbone, blade exiting his back near the skull. The stench was almost overpowering but still he pushed.

Pulling his sword free, Remus called out, “Cast the spells, Sirius! Cast them!” The dying body, still upright, was torn asunder by bright white spells until nothing but rags existed. Remus and Hermes both searched the burned field, but there was no trace of de Morte or his wand.

§§§♀♥♀§§§

The celebration was still going on as Lupin and du Snape slipped away. Harry had been put to bed long ago, but the bonfires were still being fed and the flautists and lute players still made their music. No one would miss them if they carried on in their own rooms.

“Wolf…oh, my Wolf!” Severus pulled his lover into a doorway, scant feet from their quarters and slid both hands up his tunic to pinch the lycanthrope’s nipples. His lips were soft and warm as they traced the old scars on the right side of Remus’ neck. The Wolf growled his approval, submitting to his mate’s loving attention. Pleasurable minutes passed as laces were loosened and skin revealed.

Grabbing Severus’ hand, Remus spun away, running toward their room. “A bed…I need a bed to properly worship you…” He threw the door open and twirled his lover into the firelit room and into his arms as he kicked the door shut. “Gods, Severus…I’ve wanted to bend you over ever since the battle!” the Wolf snarled. His kisses were hard, his tongue a spear aimed for Severus’ mouth.

Pressed against the convenient door, du Snape felt the passion rising even higher, their cocks growing rigid as they slammed into each other, still clothed… “M-m-most… _yes!_ …in-in-con-veee… _aahh!_ ” Severus moaned out. He fumbled for his wand and then tried to cast a divestment spell…it only removed his tunic and Remus’ trews. The brunet’s head knocked against the solid door as he cussed. “Damn it, not enough!”

Laughing, Remus drew his own wand and banished the rest of their clothing, then tossed it aside. “Come here, my Snake.” The Wolf was gentle, teasing, as he led his now happily-naked, proudly-erect mate toward their curtained bed. The wide shoulders, scarred, marked by trials Severus had never asked about, rippled and tempted du Snape’s digits and tongue to worship as well. So, he tackled his lover to the wooly rug, pinning him only by Remus’ complicit permission and lavishing open-mouthed kisses, sharp-fanged nips, and all the caresses he could invent upon the landscape that was Remus John Lupin.

Lupin allowed his lover to taste him, coaxing moans and murmurs from him. Then, he turned the tables and Severus found himself on his back, legs over Remus’ powerful forearms, and that _thick, hot, hard, mouth-watering, tantalizing_ thrice-blessed cock pressing against his channel’s gatekeeper. “Yes…yes…YES!” He tried to impale himself even though it would hurt, but the Wolf’s strength kept them hovering at the sword’s edge. Minutes passed and Remus let his legs down, wandlessly Summoning a small crystal flask of oil.

“I will not allow either of us to bleed now.” Lupin coated two fingers and lightly swirled them over the tight ring of muscle. He pressed in, straight to the prostate and Severus’ scream-reflex. The lycanthrope’s fangs were showing in the firelight as he smirked at his lover’s writhing on his fingers. “Do you want something more…filling…Severus?” he whispered as he pumped them in and out. “Something more…lupine…in that hot, grasping, silky hole?” His voice was rough, deepened with passion and hunger for the man beneath him.

Severus couldn’t think, couldn’t string two words together. He let his legs flop open even wider, silently begging for his lover’s cock. Remus understood and knelt, suckling the heavy, long cock bobbing in its reddened glory between them. Then he coated his cock under Severus’ dazed glance, twisting his hands over the glans, tugging the short, curly hair to stave off his climax until he could share it.

“N-n-na….” _Now!_ Lupin understood the assassin’s stutters and plunged in until his hips were pressed tightly against Severus’ arse and thighs. He stilled, bending to press kisses and love bites across the delineated collarbones and the tattoo of a Celtic wolf hidden along one. Severus’ breathing changed, and Remus began their ride, leaning back on his heels and pulling the slighter man up, changing his angle and striking his lover’s prostate with every other thrust. 

Severus du Snape had always been loved by his Wolf, but this celebration of ardour and life was mind-blowing! He hung in space, suspended between Remus and heaven, a dark light in a sea of white. Each thrust pushed him first one way and then drew him back. “Yeh-yeh-yeh…YEH!” he screamed. Severus’ thighs tightened around Lupin’s hips, reducing him to short, swift thrusts.

They rocked together in their own universe, creating heat and sound from only themselves. Suddenly, Severus’ eyes rolled to the back of his head, his mouth opened in a silent scream and his body mimicked a lute string pulled too tight; he broke apart, his come pumping out in a never-ending stream making yet another connection to his lover. Remus watched, enthralled by the power he had, the ability to bring this strong wizard to his figurative knees. His mind became a puddle of candle wax once again and he succumbed to the _rippling, squeezing, pulling_ hold of Severus’ channel, and he came in a blinding flash of sight and sound.

They found themselves sticky and stuck together on the woolen rug, a maelstrom of small stars still exploding around them. Severus reached out and felt the heat of the tiny suns burst on his skin. “We did this… _we_ did this!” There was wonder and innocent joy in his voice. He looked at Remus’ flushed face, sweat pasting his hair to his forehead. “You gave _this_ to me.” Du Snape rolled until he could press his face to Lupin’s neck. “This…this is love.”

Remus tiredly turned as well, flopping his arm over Severus’ shoulder for a hug. “Love is what I always have with you…” he murmured. He reached out and snagged a tapestry on the wall and pulled. It fell perfectly, covering the two of them in front of the fireplace. In the morning, they would laugh at the subject of it: A yellow-eyed werewolf with his head in the lap of a thin, dark-haired man dressing in green robes, surrounded by flames and tiny stars. For now, they would rest, truly rest.

~~~ Finis ~~~

§¤§¤*§*¤§¤§ 

_~~~ Comments, like rain in the desert, are greatly appreciated.  
Thank you for reading. ~~~_

**Author's Note:**

>  **Reference**  
>  1\. [Translations of the Names of the Planets](http://www.nineplanets.org/days.html)  
> 2\. [Medieval Castles](http://www.epic-fantasy.com/castles/medievalcastles.htm)  
> 3\. [Castles for Rent](http://www.a-castle-for-rent.com/castles/medieval.htm)  
> 4\. [Great Castles of Wales](http://www.greatcastlesofwales.co.uk/map.htm)  
> a. Cardiganshire: a nod to the tatty jumpers and sweaters Remus wears in the books.  
> b. The closest castle to Cardiganshire—Cilgerran of Ceredigion-Pembrokeshire, South-West Wales. [Find information here.](http://www.greatcastlesofwales.co.uk/cilgerran.htm)  
> 5\. [Lonely Planet Guide: Wales](http://www.lonelyplanet.com/worldguide/wales/)  
> 6\. [ Medieval dungeon of the Loches castle. Loire Valley, France.](http://www.terragalleria.com/europe/france/loire-valley/picture.fran2758.html)  
> a. [Tourism information: Loches castle](http://www.azureva.co.uk/loire/usse-loche-castle.html).  
> b. [Loire Valley tourism information: Loches castle](http://www.37-online.net/gb/castles/loches_gb.html)  
> 7\. [From The Dictionary of Sex](http://www.sex-lexis.com/Sex-Dictionary/cunnus) cunnus: The Latin word for the external female genitals . See vagina for synonyms.  
> 8\. rusty spoon: homage/reference to Alan Rickman’s Sheriff of Nottingham in “Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves”: [the Sheriff has said he'll cut out Robin Hood's heart with a spoon]  
>  _Guy of Gisborne:_ Why a spoon, cousin? Why not an axe?  
>  _Sheriff of Nottingham:_ Because it's DULL, you twit. It'll hurt more.  
>  9\. boggart: From British folklore, a household spirit that is always malevolent, following its family wherever they flee. [See entry at Wikipedia.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boggart) [Alternate source at Mysterious Britain site.](http://www.mysteriousbritain.co.uk/folklore/folklore.html)


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